It was a great boost, so many cards from readers wishing me luck in my new home.
‘Great future ahead!’ Patricia wrote. And this from Barbara: “As a long-time member of your fan club, I hope your neighbors soon realize that they have a beautiful, generous, warm-hearted, kind-hearted lady to befriend and welcome.” . And a card from a 90-year-old former teacher containing a £10 note with the instruction to buy me white flowers. (I returned the money, but kept the warm feeling. I just got some free wild garlic.)
I felt very encouraged, especially by the young Uber Eats delivery driver, who insisted that I go get my passport before handing me my bottle of champagne.
But there’s always one… ‘Dear Liz, I’ve read your column every week since it started, but I’m worried about you… you look horrible, like someone at the end of their days! Soon he will be buried among those tombstones that surround your house… Women must have a little meat on their bones to look younger. Give yourself time to breathe. Be happy in a less opulent way. Just keep going. I hope you come to your senses.
I couldn’t make out the signature, but I assume the author is a man.
We forgot about the applause (well, almost; I have the Evening standard’s from my collection of columns, which says I am “a better writer than Helen Fielding”, framed on my bathroom wall), but we always hold on to the negative reviews: we are smart to remember.
The time super literary agent Jonny Geller told me my novel based on Emily Wilding Davison was “poorly executed.” a review on Sunday weather (Actually I was a staff member, with no loyalty!) who called my Prince biography “confusing.” EITHER Private detectivesay my memoir about the fashion world and moving to Exmoor was ‘A bit skinny, Lizzy!’
But I have to admit that the bad guy who says I look terminal might be right.
That’s why I’m here to reveal something deeply embarrassing and shocking: my name is Liz and I am a 65-year-old anorexic woman.
I’ve had periods of eating normally since I first went on a diet at age 11. When I say “usually” I mean a whole banana, not half. A few fries. Not to be thin, as was the case when I was younger; I don’t eat because I can’t. I want to enjoy food – I am addicted to Cheflike a nun watching porn, but to me the food tastes like nothing.
I feel nauseous when I force myself to eat a few bites of my signature dish: cauliflower balti. People assume that anorexics have immense willpower, a core of steel that allows them to never be tempted, but in my case this is not true: food disgusts me.
I know I have osteoporosis in my spine, but I don’t care anymore. The clinic in Switzerland that diagnosed my malnutrition gave me a suitcase of supplements, but I find it difficult to swallow them.
I don’t eat because I’m stressed and I’m more stressed without the nutrients I need for my brain. Just went to my favorite pub for Sunday lunch – nut and vegetable roast; They tell me I need eight servings of vegetables a day. I couldn’t eat it. I’m going to have to start composting my leftovers.
The owner of my house left his huge composter, which only contained dry twigs. The outbuildings are full of rubbish: an old oil tank (my house now has an air heat pump), empty bottles, broken furniture, plastic bags. I may have consumed more than I can chew (especially now that I don’t eat).
Once the mortgage is paid I have £500 left over each month. In doing my sums before finishing, I had mistakenly included David. I remember a friend telling me that she once went out with a man only to have him remove a solidified concrete block that was next to her front door. I was this close to becoming an ordinary prostitute.
I contacted my lender and asked if I could switch to interest only. “We don’t offer interest-only loans,” they told me. “But you can choose to do it for six months, without affecting your credit score.”
So that’s what I’ve done. Either I have to write a bestseller or find a solvent man. I think the first is a little more likely…
Jones moans… What Liz hates this week
- Since his cancer surgery, Mini Puppy hasn’t touched dog food. Only human food. I prepared him a cod from Lidl. Halfway through hand-feeding her (I know; she doesn’t eat from a bowl), I noticed small bones, even though the package clearly said boneless. Now let’s go to the vet…
- Replaced Alison Hammond in For the Love of Dogs. She is too loud to be around traumatized animals.
Contact Liz at lizjonesgoddess.com and find it @lizjonesgoddess
